


Kiss the Wall

by Morteamore



Category: The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries - L. J. Smith
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Canon - Book, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Mind Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Supernatural Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 15:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21657562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morteamore/pseuds/Morteamore
Summary: An alternative timeline for the Vampire Diaries book IV: Dark Reunion.Damon Salvatore meets the Original vampire Klaus, whose been torturing the town of Fell's Church as well as enslaved his brother Stefan to use him to satisfy his twisted sexual and violent whims. Knowing he's the only one among his allies powerful enough to go up against an Original, Damon agrees to take his brother's place at Klaus' side, becoming his pawn and slave. But while there, he sows the seeds of a plan, hoping he can execute it before time runs out for either him, his friends, or the town.
Relationships: Klaus/Damon Salvatore
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of a trilogy, all three short stories are over a decade old, and the first two have been lost to the ether. I've only been able to find this particular one, but it reads well enough on its own. Title has been taken from the _Wolfsheim_ song of the same name, because I like to steal song titles for projects.
> 
> Please be advised this is an intensely graphic and ultra violent story that borders on torture porn at times, and that it's not for everyone and has a lot of triggering potential. If that doesn't sound like a problem, than please enjoy.

Power was what drew Damon from his place among the black walnut trees. It was heavy in the air, pushing against his mind until he felt his head would burst and its contents spill forth into the blackness of the night.

Like a living shadow, he slunk toward it, with it, let it guide him to Vickie Bennett’s bedroom window. The lights were on, their pale yellow glow casting deep shadows against the drawn curtains, but he couldn’t see inside.

There was something very wrong here. A mental probe of the perimeter told him that much. Vickie’s parents were unconscious and it wasn’t his doing. And the girl herself—  
There was a scream, suddenly. A high, ear-piercing wail of pure anguish that set off all of his predatory instincts at once. He fought hard to hold back the urge to break through the window and attack. Not because he didn’t want to get involved, but because it was futile. There might as well have been bars and chains on the window for he’d never been invited into the house.

His little brother had, however. He could call him for help, if he wanted, but he knew that too would be pointless. Whatever was inside that house was more powerful then his brother and he combined. It wasn’t just his vampire senses that sensed it. He could feel it with every fiber of his being, a primordial recognition of pure evil that had probably been instilled in the human being since the dawn of the species. He knew this…thing for what it was immediately. An old one; one of the ancients.

An Original.

The sound of breaking glass made him pull into a defensive position, muscles taught like a racehorse waiting for the starting bell, fangs bared like a rabid animal. His fists were balled tight, thick cords of veins in his forearms straining. There was something emerging from the new hole in the window. A tall form with eyes the crystal blue of tropical waters and white-blond hair that stood up as if it had been struck by lightning. He wore an old, tattered raincoat, the sweater beneath appearing as if it had been discarded several times over. It was coming undone at the hem, woven threads hanging like wilted tendrils, jagged holes baring glimpses of unwashed, pale flesh beneath. His clothing was ragged, the clothing of a derelict or wino, sagging on his form old, ragged, and stained. There was nothing refined about him, save for his face, which had a chiseled handsomeness that was a sharp contrast to the rest of him. 

He was grinning from ear to ear as he stepped out on the grass, his features smeared with something dark and pungent. Damon could smell a meaty odor wafting from him, and from the broken window. It teased at his bloodlust, ran temptation through his tongue and jaw and teeth in pulsing waves. 

“And what do we have here? Ah, the eldest Salvatore. Thought it was your watch. Great job with the joint, by the way. Too bad I grew tired of playing with the girl and /ate/ her.” The creature stepped closer and spit something on the ground. 

Damon stared at him, eyes like marble reflecting light. 

"You look hungry," the man continued. "There's still eats inside. Go on and help yourself." When Damon didn't move, he added, "I know you want to. I can smell your hunger. What's your diet like, hanging around that brother of yours? Bet the delicacy of a young woman ain't on the menu lately." His tongue skated against the backs of his fangs, accenting the word 'delicacy' with a perverse, wet noise. 

The hooded black gaze narrowed, and Damon’s voice was clipped, intense, but absent of emotion. "Who are you?"

Laughter, as unpleasant as the grimy fingers Damon could see resting at the man's sides, filled the air. With casual speed, those fingers were suddenly against Damon’s skin. He hadn’t seen the man move at all, and yet he could feel their tepid touch at the side of his neck. Being stroked like a cat, Damon resisted the urge to break contact.

“I asked who you-” 

“So much potential.” Klaus pulled away suddenly and stepped back to regard him. “Not like your brother, are you? You’re a predator.” A pause. “Yet you’re wasting away. Bowing your neck to those humans and your damnable brother- how’s that working out, anyway? ”

Fury came in dark, heavy waves from Damon. Hands shoved into the pockets of the repugnant coat, the tattered hem shifting as a gust of balmy summer night air caught it, and the man seemed to take pleasure in the reaction. 

“Guess not too well, considering I’m already two up on you. You should walk away, now. Admit you can’t take me and go back home. I’d let you. We aren’t enemies. Yet. Don’t interfere with my plans, and I’ll ignore you. ”

The elder Salvatore’s gaze flickered to Vickie’s broken bedroom window, the groove of thoughtful lines forming on his brow. “You leave me with such a tough decision.” 

The air stilled, even the sound of nocturnal insects dying off as if some hand of a great deity had come and swept them from the Earth. Tensions seemed to be gathering, pulling tighter like the band of a slingshot. Any moment it would snap and unleash whatever it was holding back.

Damon’s muscles bunched. 

And then he was lunging at the Original. 

It was not a carefully thought out attack. The first step in the rush, and Damon was already regretting the action. Because he saw, with the knowledge of someone who knew they were defeated before the fight had even started, the other vampire’s arm whip back; saw it sweep in a rapid arch towards him. Rage spilled like boiling oil over the side of a vat as the fist attached collided with him, sent him hurtling against the trunk of a walnut tree. The sharp, aching throb that came on impact barely registered. Instead he let the momentum launch him into another attack, spurned by nothing rational. He only knew that he meant to attack until the man was incapacitated, despite what damage he might take in the process.

“No wonder she liked you too. She always did have a taste for the feisty ones.”

Damon was jerked out of his violent haze by the comment. She? Not Elena. That wasn’t possible. Katherine…. His thoughts shifted back to the encounter with Katherine a mere six months ago. Something she had mentioned then, and had told him once, long ago. A fleeting memory of a village in Germany and a vampire that was feared and thought evil; that had been responsible for saving Katherine’s life. 

The roar of grated glass filled the yard. Damon knew, then, his opponent by name. It came to him as simple as waking up.

Klaus. 

“I was curious to know when you‘d figure it out. You’re a smart boy.”

And now Klaus was looking down at him, actually had him pinned by the sides of his coat. This close, the smell emanating from him was so much worse. Like a charnel house, the Original carried the scent of violent death and human waste. Whatever had been left in that house for the humans to find would rival their deepest nightmares and tax their imaginations.

“Powerful and smart. You really could be something great.” Klaus’ smile as he flung Damon to the ground like the husk of a dead kill was wide enough to turn his features into a demonic parody. “We could have this town, you and I. Conquer it like Byzantine raiders. Think about it.” 

The original turned and was gone before Damon could register he’d moved. But his parting words carried on the air. 

“Once I snuff out the pathetic life of that brother of yours, my offer will no longer stand.”

Screaming sounded from the house. High and wailing, breaking down into a mix of sobs and moans. Miss Bennett, full of agonized thoughts crippled by liquor, had found the Original’s work.

“I don’t bargain with terms like those,” Damon said.

“Can’t say I’m not disappointed.”

Like that, the scuffle was over. Damon stood alone, fury singing through his veins like an electric current. He was aware of ambulance sirens in the distance, form coalescing into that of a crow as he fled to safe refuge back among the walnut trees. 

Nothing left to do now but to wait. Wait, and think. 

About Klaus. 

Not just a vampire. Far worse, more powerful then anything that walked the Earth. An Original. His thoughts whispered about them, legends of those that had crawled up from some dark, rancorous wombs, born of the blackest pits beneath the Earth, thirsting for human blood, supping on their flesh. The Original vampires were the embodiments of nightmares. Nothing could deter them or kill them. They were cruel. They were evil and mad. Foolish tales, Damon had thought. Evil wasn’t born, it was created. And nothing in this world was invincible. Everything had a weakness.

But Klaus…. In five centuries, Damon had encountered creatures of all ilk and all different powers. Only months ago, he had faced Katherine. Strong; stronger than he was. But broken. Something about thinking of Katherine triggered memories of his recent encounter. Something she had once told him, long ago. But those ancient memories were fleeting, and he could keep hold of it no more than he could’ve defeated the Original alone. The power he had felt wrapped around that creature like a thick duvet, the speed and strength of his attacks- he didn’t like how it made him feel. Because he knew that sensation, the smell of it, the taste. 

Fear. 

The same catalyst pumping the blood rapid in prey, making them tremble, and cower, and flee from his presence. 

Not for himself, he realized. Klaus wanted him on different terms, or he would’ve killed him like a human turning an ant to pulp beneath their heel. No, he feared for his brother. Because he knew even once Stefan knew what they were up against, he wouldn’t stop his crusade. He’d plough ahead, until he got himself killed. 

With a spread and flap of his gleaming wings, Damon noticed the car pulling up to the curb, the familiar figures piling out. Speak of the devil and he appears on your doorstep. Stefan was approaching the trees, alone. At once Damon felt his brother’s fury, a sensation like standing under a desert sun and having it beat you into sweaty, exhausted submission. He hopped from his perch, was in human form by the time he landed in his brother’s path. 

“She’s dead,” Damon said in the casual tone of a greeting. 

The younger vampire stared at him for several moments, eyes dilating to the point they were almost as black as Damon’s. 

And then he opened his mouth and began his assault. 

Xxx

Dawn was boosting itself off the horizon in a brilliant blaze when Damon dropped from the sky and landed on the roof of the abandoned house. Hours had passed since his encounter with Klaus and the fight with his brother. He’d gone to the woods and gorged himself, tearing into anything that ran from him, feeding on their blood until he felt his veins would burst and his organs were swimming. Better still would have been human blood, with its undercurrent of power and heady flavor. But he hadn’t survived so long without knowing when to curb his appetite. And even _he_ admitted humans weren’t exactly necessary. Preferred, but not necessary. He doubted even if he tore through the town and fed until every last single person was dead that he’d be even near as strong as Klaus was, anyway. Accumulating any abundance in power was futile.

He’d thought, as he lay basking in the aftermath of his kills. Going up against Klaus meant not surviving, and there was no compromise. He’d known that, as the Original had left the Bennett house. And he’d known just as well that his brother wouldn’t care. Fine, then, a voice in his head had snarled. If the fool cared so much about this town, this insignificant little mark upon the globe, then let him perish with it. But he knew it was more than that. Elena was involved, and those humans, and Stefan would never abandon his post. And as long as that were true, he couldn’t leave, either. Which made him just as much of a fool. Resigning himself to that fact hadn’t been so difficult. Just as effortless as having told Katherine to go to hell had been, down in that hole in the ground that he had sworn was going to be his final resting place. He hadn’t known whether she’d let him live or die, then, but he certainly hadn’t expected the former. Something in the back of his mind mocked him at that. What if she had killed him, and things had unfolded as they had? He’d been so quick to give up his life in defense of the others. And to think, if he had, where would Stefan be, now? 

Above him the day had finally fully bloomed and the haze of cloud cover swallowed the sun. Those clouds were a stain of deep gray that stretched as far as he could see, and he could smell the moisture clinging to them. The shingles were split in places, the bite of jagged edges a mild annoyance as his bare feet swept over them. He felt something wet and warm splatter against the back of his neck, realized the clouds above him that had been pregnant with a budding storm had finally split open. It came down as a quiet patter at first, building into a rush that made the wood rattle and steam rise off it. Face turned upwards, he let it soak him, hair becoming a slick, heavy curtain, clothes following. It seemed to clear his head, the rage swept away into the rivulets running off the crevices. He closed his eyes.

He was struck, then, by a feeling. A gnawing of uncomfortability that seemed to grow until it raised his hackles. He recognized the mind it was coming from, went rigid as he honed in on it. Little brother, distressed. Hurt. No, it was deeper than hurt. More like the type of agony that banded around your chest and never stopped constricting. He could feel it as strongly as if he was in the same room with his brother. And it sent a wave of outrage so deep he found himself nearly quaking. 

And that’s when he realized that there was someone else up on the roof with him. 

Madness embodied in his electric blue gaze, Klaus looked like a shadow huddled beneath the driving rain. He was crouched, and he inclined his head to peer up at Damon.  
Damon hid his annoyance of being snuck up on in a sneer, and his voice was like the killing slash of a blade across a bared throat. “What have you done with Stefan?”

“I was tired of playing with him.” Klaus smile was laced with the promise of violence, but he made no move to attack. “So I struck him down like a lame animal, and dragged him back to my place for some fun.”

Lips pressed tightly together, the younger vampire went rigid. Beneath the hair that clung to his brow in the downpour, his eyes were endless and ominous as black pits.  
“He’s probably still unconscious. A weak thing, isn’t he? I’ve known those newly reborn that could take him. A disgrace to my bloodline.” The Original made a noise of contempt.

“And what was Katherine, a shining example of your renowned lineage?”

It came like a freight train, swift and destructive 

The first blow slammed into Damon’s shoulder, and he landed with hands scrabbling at the roof shingles. As he latched on and regained his footing, another caught him between the shoulder blades, paralyzing him for a split moment. With the rain pummeling him as hard as the blows, he fell to the ground below, damp overgrown grass clinging to him on impact as if it were hands of the dead reaching up to hold him down. Lightning flashed, brilliant and searing, everything lit up as if by a spotlight for a split moment. He saw the barest hint of movement in that flash, the flutter of a coat tail.

His bones were still intact, and he could move with most of his natural ease. But still he wasn’t quick enough to dodge the kick that caught him under the jaw, breaking the bone with the ease of a child tearing off a doll’s head. The pain was like an electrical current, pulsing through every nerve of his body. Changing into a crow would leave him too vulnerable now. But if he could make it to the line of trees….

He moved his legs beneath him, forced his body back up. 

And staggered as something slammed into the back of his head. His opponent may as well have been a ghost, so inefficient he was at fighting it. He couldn’t see Klaus coming, and pain crippled him before any of the blows even registered. So much pain, each strike more debilitating than the last. And the final blow had made his eyes sting and his vision double.

“Mind your tongue, little boy,” came Klaus’ voice. It was close. Straightening, Damon waited for the world to stop tilting before turning towards it. The tall man was behind him, hands tucked into his pockets, head inclined. “I’ve come to ask you to dance. The companionship of a god. It’s an offer not many good little vampires ever have the pleasure of receiving. But I’ve been one of those, you know. A god, back in the days where blood sacrifice was wonderfully commonplace. Virgins, and young flesh, and blood so sweet you’d be reeling on it for days. I miss those days, Salvatore.” 

“A god of cattle.” Damon’s voice was little more than a growl, forced through the passage of shattered bone. A trickle of blood dribbled from a cut on his forehead, and he smeared it with a sleeve, painting his brow crimson. “It’s suiting.”

Blue eyes became arctic fire. “I could tear you apart,” Klaus snapped his fingers, “Like that.”

“But what pleasure would that be for you?”

The handsome face creased in a smile. “You’re just business. It’s little brother who I want for a toy. Every time he screams and fights, it gets me worked up. But just between us, I think he likes being my wanton little pain whore.”

Every force in Damon’s body wanted him to spring at Klaus, the pure animal fury welling up again, battering its cage. He would go mad if he restrained it much longer.

Suddenly Klaus had him in a headlock, was flush against his back. The younger vampire fought the hold, fury drowning out humiliation as Klaus yanked his head back. His whole concentration had narrowed on the Old One, his mind battering the heavy, layered mental presence of the other vampire. He may as well have been trying to wrestle a bear. One that could render his flesh down to the bone with one swipe of hooked claws, and whose grip was like an iron maiden. Wet coolness touched his forehead, dragging against his skin. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Wow,” Klaus commented with the growl of pleasure leaking into his voice. “I didn’t expect you to taste so good.”

Damon gritted his teeth, made animal grunts as he fought harder.

“I’m in love, Salvatore.”

The laughter pierced Damon’s mind like a thousand needle points as Klaus bit into him. It was like no bite any sane vampire would render. Klaus used all of his mouth, every tooth pressing, rupturing Damon’s skin. And the fangs stabbed in deep, deeper than Katherine’s had when she’d nearly killed him. 

He felt a fire-strewn tug, as if it weren’t just his blood being pilfered, but his entire being. Arms circled round his chest, making him go still at last, keeping him rendered immobile. Crushing him. He heard the crack as something gave beneath the pressure, felt the lance of pain digging into the meat of his chest and snaking all the way up his throat, to where Klaus was attached.

xxx 

He’d offered his neck to Klaus, like the sacrificial ox held steady as a blade invoked its blood. Even if he hadn’t seen what had been made of Stefan, his mind had already decided. Seeing his brother reduced to a filthy animal, chained, eyes haunted by want- it didn’t matter if Klaus would keep his word or not. Damon had resigned himself to the fact that it was the only way. 

Hours ago now, and his treatment at Klaus’s hands was still vivid in his mind. When he closed his eyes, it was all he could see.

Xxx

He was lifted by the collar. Like a hound with dead fowl being carried in its jowls, Klaus didn’t even strain to bare his weight. There was no expression on that face, not even the crease of a furrowed brow or grin. He seemed to be regarding Damon as if he were some ancient artifact, broken and unfathomable. Meeting those eyes, Damon felt something he couldn’t explain unfurl inside him. Not fear, not desire, nor hunger. It was a recognition; a connection to his ancestors, what they may have felt staring at this towering, fearsome creature of a man, who was unaffected by the assault of their arrows, and spears, and swords. This was how humans saw him, with their eyes and instincts. It was near hypnotic. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, was furious with himself for it. 

Startling him, Klaus finally cantered his head. “You’re a pretty thing.”

Something in his tone made Damon uneasy. He’d seen with his own eyes what sexual atrocities had been done to Stefan, felt soul crushing pangs of intertwined agony and anger at it. It made him want to kill everything in his path, turn bones to dust and tear away the flesh protecting them. And right now, Klaus was in his path. Klaus, the cause of that broken creature that had quietly slipped into his brother’s shoes and was probably now going mad from hatred and longing. 

Before Damon could fight the grip on him, lunge for the unwashed throat that smelled of death and decay, Klaus was shoving him back up against the wall. He tried to move away, but the Old One was pressed up against his back, unyielding. 

Like a serpent slithering from beneath the cover of a rock, rearing up to strike its prey from behind, came the dread; dread that anticipated what was going to unfold next, because he knew even before he felt the hands undoing his pants, the clank and scrape of zippers and buckles, what the original had planned. He made to gather his strength and attempt another break, but found himself running up against a blockade. He realized it was Klaus’s mind, paralyzing him with an unbreakable psychic hold. 

There was no warning, no ceremony. 

As if some great force was gathering inside him, threatening to expand and render him in two, the pain of Klaus’s erection pressing into him, forcing its way in, swept him like the tide. The cool breeze of ragged breath brushed his neck, and he could feel the noise of content rumbling in Klaus’s chest, vibrating through him. Klaus inched himself in further, slowly against resisting muscles. Unable to hold it in, to force the sound back into the confines of the depths it had come from, Damon cried out. But it was far from a cry of pleasure. Crumbling stone embedded under his nails as he dug his fingers into the grooves of the wall, his mind had gone numb, blanking as he tried guiding it away from the reality of the situation. But Klaus’s not so gentle mental nudging and the bright hot pain kept him all too aware. A thread of sanity, that his brother had endured this, survived it, was the only thing keeping him grounded. 

Klaus had worked himself into hard, strong thrusts, each one seeming to provoke more pain than the last. He could feel cruel hands digging into his skin under his shirt, making deep furrows as they ripped across him. They paralleled the tearing inside him, the tug and pull and wrenching. And oh, god, the faintest hint of pleasure being ratted out by shear force. That feeling nauseated him, and beneath it, at a quiet boil, ran the rage. He squirreled it away, saving it and letting it build. There would come a time he’d use it. The memory of his brother’s violation, his own. And he would make Klaus suffer as they had. 

His fingers burrowed deeper into the stone, muscles clenching, nails splitting to reveal the raw meat beneath. It only made the pain of having Klaus invade him worse, more concentrated. But it also intensified the pleasure as well. He fought it with every last reserve he had and felt himself drawn up short.

The Old One’s own lust manifested in a perverse noise, and Damon winced as the stronger mind speared his. All at once he was flooded with the relentless stream of Klaus’ enjoyment, his body feeling as someone had left him in the desert without his lapis ring. He tried forcing some of it back at the Old One, if only for the satisfaction of overpowering him, and Klaus suddenly clamped a hand around his cock and squeezed. 

“Very,” he felt his breath forced out of his lungs, roiling through them and burning his chest, as Klaus accented the word with a lunge. “Good. What other tricks can you pull off?” 

Triumph turned to resentment, as Damon realized he’d been merely manipulated. He was all but battered against the wall then, the sounds at his back becoming more animalistic, like a snarling jungle cat baring its teeth at intruders on its territory. Something thick and viscous rained down on his skin, and he turned his head enough to see Klaus was hunched over him, teeth gritted, saliva dampening his crevice of a mouth and his chin. 

Despicable, he thought amidst the turmoil of his thoughts, just as those teeth clamped at the nape of his neck, applied the slightest pressure. Fangs pierced just deep enough to provoke a pinpoint of pain, but it was awash in the greater agony winding up his spine. He steadied his breath, realizing that though Old One kept his teeth locked, he was not drawing blood; a bite that was all show, driving the fact just how much hold he had on the younger vampire. He’d slowed his thrusts as well, his hands encircling Damon’s shaft, clamping around the rigid flesh until the other vampire roared and tried to buck away from the mounting sensation. 

But pleasure was unfathomable and irresistible, and with a swift tearing of mental veils by Klaus’ expert psychic claws, Damon gave into it. Instead of continuing to resist, he forced himself against the hands, panting, loathing how his body was responding even as it did. Klaus made him long for the release of orgasm, want it with the triptych of mind, body, and soul. 

The feelings rose like a racehorse behind the gate, muscles bunching and coiling in anticipation of the starting shot. 

And then Klaus pulled away, and they came crashing back down upon him.

Weariness and anguish suddenly embedded itself down to his bones as he was denied the release. Then emptiness overcame him, and he was looking up at the Original, bloody, slick mouth leering down. An overpowering urge surged through him, to reach up and embed his fingers into that handsome face, tear it right off. 

But he wasn’t about to waste his efforts. He would need his strength. For the right time.


	2. Chapter 2

The night was alive in the forest, the rustle of insects and prey, their smell, their presence purging the memories, bring him back to the forest. Klaus filled his vision, his broad back arched over something lying among the soil and leaves. A stag, fallen, the only sign it was alive the fill and hollow of its barreled underbelly.

And Klaus was parting its flesh with his bare fingers, like a cleaver working the carcass of a cow to be processed and packaged. The ritual was followed by the discharge of organs, torn out one by one, tethered by stringy tendrils that Klaus worried like a rat chewing at garbage. The Old One seemed enamored by the gore, playing with it as a child would a favorite toy. Still alive, the body beneath him made high pitched whistling noises that came in a relentless chain. Damon had heard that sound. Too many times for his liking. It set him on edge, sharpening his fangs, his senses. Even as he longed to put the thing out of its misery, the heavy smell of tin and meat on the air churned his bloodlust. Thirst was a fearsome vice; a near living entity that demanded to be satiated. When Klaus turned a visage painted in death and gore, he felt the sudden shock of affinity, and crawled forth without realizing. Eyes like pools of glistening oil rolled towards him, foam-flecked on the animal’s rippling snout. It was quiet now, regarding him. And he could no longer hold back from taking what he wanted most.

But all the blood had pooled beneath the body, was still pumping out in slow spurts from the gaping wounds. Biting would only bring frustration, as he tried to drink from severed veins.

The Old One gave him a mad grin, his eyes seeming to pierce right through him as he proffered his bloody hand.

It seemed to bring him back to focus. Damon turned away and instantly regretted it. Klaus didn’t need to physically control him. His mental fist was immensely strong, and he closed it around the younger vampire, all but crushing him. It wasn’t physical pain that bore through him, as the original made him latch on to the hand like a leech, work tongue and lips over it, impassioned by the exhilaration of the life-sustaining fluid. But rather a comfortableness that seemed to have infiltrated at the base of his spine and slithered its way into his brain. He was compelled forward, hovering over the stag’s bleeding wounds and the mass of organs that were spilled before him like a banquet. The animal lay still now, eyes touched with the film of death. But the blood was still warm, as he dipped a finger in it, ran it over his lips.

Suddenly, that mental nudge was a shove. Snarling at Klaus, as if warning away from his kill, Damon dove for the corpse, submerged in its cavities, felt a swell of exuberance as blood filled his mouth like some crimson pool found in the depths of Hades. The act was beyond barbaric, and something twisted tight inside him, forcing him to reel back. Torment was like the drop of some phantom presence into the crevices and hollows of his being. This was no punishment of Klaus’. Just his own dignity shattering, piercing him with its broken edges.

Fury swept through him in a fierce rush. On his hands and knees, feeding with animal simplicity- it may have been his survival instinct, and Klaus’ powerful influence, but that didn’t prevent him from thinking it was beneath him. Only the lowliest of vampires derived such pleasure from acts of this nature. He wouldn’t debase himself in such a manner, even if he had no chance of fending off the power forcing him to do so.

Klaus seemed to know what he was thinking because his rough hand cupped around the nape of Damon’s neck. He was frowning as he forced Damon down into the ruined remnants of body and flesh, ground him against it. The muscles in Damon’s back bulged in protest.

“I lay a feast at your feet, and you defy me,” came the Old One’s voice, his tone that of a scolding parent. “You know, beautiful little Katherine was the same way at first. No real taste for blood and pleasure, the poor girl. And so heartbroken. How could I resist the temptation of exploiting that? She learned the hard way, of course.”

As he spoke, Klaus released Damon. Streaked with blood, the younger vampire turned and looked at him.

“Your brother did as well,” Klaus was going on. His voice seemed wistful, and he sighed. “He was fun. Had a good flavor, and he knew his place well. Quite a mouth on him, too. It’s always more thrilling when they’re inexperienced. Too bad that means you won’t be near as fun.” Like spiders with appendages cast in iron, Klaus’ hands were on him again. His teeth were bared, lips parted to reveal the glossy, pink sheen. “But you have your purposes. You want to hurt me, don’t you, kid? Tear my head off with your bare hands and do a victory jig in the blood? Why don’t you try? You have me right here. You could make me beg for mercy. Come on.”

Humiliation was a crimson mist that obscured Damon’s vision, knowing he had no power to stop Klaus from taunting him. The grip on him had been slackened again, enough for him to move. He pulled away from the Old One, saw Klaus’ tongue skate across his lips like an animal happening upon fresh meat. That anticipation of filling its belly to bursting then basking in the heavy fullness alight in his blue eyes. At once Damon understood, and merely wiped his mouth and rose.

“You break my heart, Salvatore.” Klaus’s face contorted into a look of genuine hurt. “But no matter.” The taller vampire stood as well, one hand clamping on Damon’s shoulder as if they were nothing more then companions who had drunk too much and were stumbling home. “I have a previous engagement. You’re free to do what you like until I finish business.” As Damon’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, Klaus barked out a laugh. “It’s not like you could do anything to threaten me. You’ll know when it’s time to come back home to master.”

Damon waited until Klaus was gone, one of the old one’s boots stomping down to send the stag’s head bursting as if it had been rotting in the sun too long, fluids erupting like juice wrangled form vineyard grapes, until his form melted and the crow took flight.

As he headed towards the boarding house, another memory took hold. The aftermath of his first night amongst the Original, recuperating from the hours of Klaus’ repeated assault and violation, until he lay bruised and naked on the ground, staring at nothing….

xxx

Weakness. A paralyzing weakness that penetrated his bones and ripped the ache right from the marrow. There was something sharp and damp at his back, scraping against his skin like a knife that could scratch but was too blunt to pierce. No matter how he shifted his weight, the craggy surface continued to hurt, and he realized then that’s what it was; rock and earth, not mortar or brick. Not even the smooth stone of the ruined church. Without any light, he may as well been sitting in a void. And when he tried to stand, he felt as if someone had severed his legs below the knee. His movements stilled for a moment, as he mulled it over. No, he would have known if that were the case. And whatever Klaus wanted with him, it wasn’t to dismember him. Least not in such a manner, or he would’ve been done with it already.

Assuming Klaus was that predictable. Which he wasn’t. If madness could become a tangible being of flesh and blood, it would’ve been Klaus. Damon had met those eyes, blue and glowing like fool’s fire, and seen a maelstrom. Intelligent and Machiavellian and full of something far more primordial. A killing instinct, a bloodlust, something so pure in its disregard for humanity that is was perplexing how something alive and breathing could possess it. The turn of phrase almost made him laugh. Klaus was neither and claimed to have never been.

And that was what had decided Damon- that the devil had already subjected Stefan to the horrors he was capable of, twisted and corrupted his brother into the broken creature that he now was. He had been left with the only logical choice: admit that facing Klaus was futile, and bargain his own soul to save his brother’s. Nothing would ever be the same. Not his brother, nor himself. Not after this. Damon had no words for how deep those feelings of hate and resentment went. It was simply rage incarnated, fiercer and more predatory than any bloodlust.

Wherever he was now, he could hear subtle shifts in the earth above and behind him; soft crumbling, and the scrape of something quick and furry burrowing. If he allowed his senses to spread like an expanding field, he could also recognize the telltale pop and crush of flesh and bone being ground between teeth, the sound of an animal feeding. But he could smell or sense no predators, and that left only one explanation.

“You were out longer than I anticipated,” came a voice. It sounded guttural and damp as if someone was trying to speak with a mouth brimming with excess saliva. “Disappointing.”

Damon tried getting up again and flopped on to his side, the impact sending spikes of pain through his side that was so relentless it made him wince for several seconds. His cheek grazed something hard but pliable; a shoe. So close, and he hadn’t sensed it. Klaus was—

A curtain of agony came down hard as he was forced backward, slamming into the honed blades that made up the wall at his back. The sudden impact made his spine arch, which only thrust the rock further into his skin. But it was just pain. He knew it well, had endured torture. He’d taken having his skin mauled to strips by Katherine’s claws, Klaus nearly eviscerating him with his cock, and he could take this. The breath caught in his lungs, and he exhaled deeply, inching away from the surface as far as he could.

“Lie back, let me see what the trouble is.” Klaus’ voice was pregnant with glee. As hands seized his calves, Damon cursed the complete, unrelenting darkness. Bad enough to know that Klaus had him like a hunter cornering a wounded buck. To not be able to see him, to be helpless and blind with such a creature goading him, was too much. When the wounded prey sees no way to escape, it keens and lashes out, thrusting with finely honed points of perilous bone. And Damon did just that, swift and soundless as his fist slashed through the darkness. A worthless attempt, and perhaps rash, he knew, but it did nothing to stop the satisfaction when it connected with something solid. The victory flared only for a moment.

Bony fingers grabbed his fist, didn’t hesitate before squeezing. As every bone in Damon’s hand shattered like an armful of glass dropped on the floor, Damon bit down on the scream that threatened to come surging forth, nearly choking him. Klaus didn’t linger on his discomfort. His hands reached down, took each of the younger vampire’s legs between the knee and ankle, and snapped them in half as if they were kindle for fire. The tightening of a rough palm on his bare skin, the quick ‘crack’, the methodical manner of a surgeon resetting bones; it made sweat cast his skin in a thin sheen and the breath come hard and ragged. No clean breaks. He could feel where the skin was split, the air on the open wounds, and the itch as his advanced immunity system set to the task of healing.

“Your ability to heal efficiently is refreshing,” Klaus remarked, patting one of the leg wounds, making Damon wince.

Damon caught his breath long enough to give an abrupt rasp of a laugh.

And was promptly dragged to his feet. Hands pinned him to the wall, kept him steady there, but it did nothing to alleviate the pain in his broken legs. He may as well have been bearing his full weight.

Klaus’ breath on his face was like having a carcass thrust upon him, all decaying stench and must. Whatever he’d been feeding had not been a fresh kill, and it reminded Damon of the way some big cats and predators buried or hid their prey to be feasted upon later.

“Ever since the two of you little bastards killed Katherine, I’ve had this space I got a hankering to fill.” Klaus’s voice was low, almost as gentle as a lover’s. In no way in hell was Damon fooled into thinking The Original was capable of such a feat, and the words came out ominous to his ears. Fingers brushed his face, ran along his jawline. “Your brother wasn’t up to the task. He was fine for the short-haul, sure, but I would’ve driven him to his peak too soon. And then where would I be, with nothing to play with but a broken husk? You, on the other hand, might take centuries.”

Damon’s wrist, the one with the mangled hand, was suddenly enclosed in Klaus’s grip. He felt moisture on where the bones protruded, tried to jerk away when the sting suddenly became white-hot. Klaus’ teeth ground against the pulp of ruin when he clamped them down on both palm and finger, wrenched his head. It was like Damon had thrust his arm down the gullet of a shark. He couldn’t pull away, and Klaus wasn’t letting go, and the shreds of tendon and muscle were pulling taught, feeling as if they’d snap.

He felt ponderous wetness spatter his face, manic laughter rising.


	3. Chapter 3

The need had come while he’d been at the boarding house. First as a nudge, almost like a mother horse encouraging its newborn foal to walk. And then, more demanding. It had guided Damon to the cemetery, where Klaus stood waiting for him.

“That despicable cur,” the Original growled as Damon leaned back against the lip of Honoria Fell’s tomb, examined the missing tip of his pinkie. That close to Klaus, he could feel Klaus’s anger like a cloak of razors and daggers. “Interrupting my alone time. I told him not to come back here!” A calm settled over the Original then, instant and abrupt. He hitched up his raincoat and turned to face Damon. “Seen dear brother, Salvatore? Playing right into your role. And don’t think it’s not a role. Pawns and puppets. Actors on a stage and playthings and victims of their own design. It was the only thing my little Katherine was right about; the long-lasting entertainment value the two of you could provide.”

As the sky was plunged into the layered spectrum of the colored sky that was twilight, Damon ignored the words and made a quick sweep of the surroundings beyond the church. Something stirred in the brush amongst the headstones, loping closer. An animal, canine, by the scent, but with an under-fragrance that was undeniably human.

Werewolf.

A bulk of fur, matted and tufted into spikes with blood and dirt, appeared, rose up on its hind legs. It shuffled over the ruined wall of the church, strands of saliva and froth clinging to its jowls.

“Klaus,” came the garbled words, hard to decipher between the rows of chiseled animal teeth. “The humans- I mean, Salvatore, and Bonne, and Meredith, and Matt. I was watching them. I kept my distance, they didn’t see me.” The wolf panted, a bright tongue skating between its lips to clean its muzzle. “They were going somewhere. A relative. Meredith’s grandfather. They were going to talk to him about you.” The wolf’s eyes darted like fish fleeing at the plunge of a hand in the water. They fell on Damon, widening as he seemed to notice him for the first time. “That’s- he’s….”

Klaus followed his gaze, considered Damon with a sneer. “Another Salvatore. A bit like cockroaches, really. This one won’t be giving us any trouble.” He paused, tilting his head, a corner of lips upturned in prelude of a grin. “I think the time is ripe. Go retrieve the bait like a good dog.”

Triangular ears went flat against the plane of the wolf’s skull. “You don’t understand, Klaus.” A sharp but quiet noise escaped his clenched jaws. Damon realized the animal was whining. “Salvatore, he means business this time. He was going to chop my dick off. With an ax, for chrissakes And he said things—well, I don’t want any more part of this.”  
Damon folded his arms across his chest and let out a laugh. Sometimes the family ties ran deeper then appearance and he couldn’t help but feel proud. The werewolf turned in his direction, snarled, but Klaus struck out, sending the wolf’s muzzle whipping to the side.

“Tyler, Tyler,” Klaus chastised, clucking his tongue. ”You’re worried about an insect, a mere annoyance. I wouldn’t need a weapon to take your balls.” The furry brow of the beast furrowed, and then the wolf eyes beneath widened. Lips pulled back from teeth, exposing gums that were a brilliant pink. Klaus had crossed the distance between them, one arm tucked between the animal’s legs. “In fact, canines are universally known to be more controllable when they don’t have the urge to fuck everything.”

“Don’t!” Panic seemed to seize Tyler’s inhuman vocal cords, thinning his voice. He started to pull away, then realize the strength of the grip in which the original had him. Klaus just smiled, anticipating Tyler’s misstep. “I’ll do it. Anything you say. I’ll go get the girl.”

“What girl?” Damon asked, the amusement in which he’d been watching the scene fading to a calculated look.

Tyler started to answer, but Klaus released him then, landing another backhanded blow to his face.

“Nobody near and dear to you, Salvatore,” the original answered. “But I’ll let you in on one thing. You should have refrained from swapping yourself, the good it’s going to do. Little brother and his troop of blood bags are playing along with me better then I could’ve orchestrated. It won’t be long until I have him back under my wing. ”

Pawing the side of his snout, Tyler’s voice was a guttural growl. “I want my chance at him too, this time.” His eyes narrowed to glowing yellow slits. “You promised.”

He was staring at Tyler, but Klaus’s question was directed at Damon. “What is it with dogs, always pulling their leashes too taught till they choke? Stupid animals.”

A pitiful noise erupted from the lupine mouth, the cry of a trodden pet. The lupine body twisted, eyes wide and frightened, claws tearing at his own fur. Damon realized he was scrabbling at his own neck, rubbery tongue flopping over the side of his jaws like a limp, dead thing. The noise developed into a gurgling, the heavy body swaying. Then finally it went down inches from Damon. It gave a violent shudder and was still.

“He’ll be out for a few minutes. Help yourself,” Klaus told Damon. “If you don’t mind a little hair of the dog.”

Damon’s focus narrowed on the prone body, his breath slowing as he slipped into the familiar skin of the hunter. His tongue flicked against the lengthened points of his teeth, the sharp scrape pleasantly teasing. But the desire to give in to the hunger was fleeting.

“Peasant dining,” he said dryly. “How generous of you.”

“Oh, ho. Sorry to offend your noble tastes. You’ll have to wait until I grace you with the delicacy of my blood, won't you?”

Sharp teeth flashed. “I’m sure I’ve had better.”

The smear of Klaus’s faint smile faded. He regarded the ruined church, the scattershot of rock and weather blown debris, and then seemed to happen upon whatever it was he’d been searching for. A splintered and jagged branch was hefted up, thick around as both his wrists combined. Considering the enormity of the old one’s bone structure, a piece of wood that size was enough to send a quick stab of fear through Damon. He regained his composure quickly, but not before Klaus saw the momentary contortion of his expression.

“Ha! You have nothing to fear, champ. I’m not in the mood for Salvatore skewered and pit-roasted yet. But that doesn’t mean we can’t start on the tenderization.”

There was a rush of air. The world tilted. And then Damon was sprawled several feet away. The side of his face felt like someone had stripped off the skin and exposed it to the air, and every scent was drowned out in the cloying one of blood. He slammed his fist into the ground, and what wanted to emerge as a scream turning into a continuous grunt that rumbled through him with all the force of Klaus’ s blow.

He didn’t know how many moments passed before he hauled himself back up, only that he was forced down against the lid of the tomb, raw flesh meeting lustrous marble, the sting like the lash of a whip, only magnified, and lingering far longer. Fingers flicked at the buttons of his shirt, palms thick with callous caressing the flat, hard angles of muscle once it was split open. It felt good; too good. Damon’s thoughts froze in their cycle, and he stifled a groan.

“Oh no, boy,” Klaus said, grabbing him by the jaw. “You’re going to enjoy this. I insist.”

Power in his head, swollen and immense. So much stronger then he was. But he fought it anyway, lashed right back at it with his own mental presence. Klaus’s grip on him moved to his head, and he grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking Damon’s head back so that his neck arched like an alabaster cat. The original’s lips were curled, points of enormous fangs gleaming. Those electric blue eyes didn’t blink once, even as the pressure on Damon’s mind increased.

The rest of the shirt was yanked down and off, tossed aside. Teeth marks and bruises, still angry and brilliant in the stages of healing, marked the older Salvatore’s collar and ribs like morbid tattoos. Klaus’s hands found them, indenting the skin so deep they set him squirming. The original’s mental presence settled back into his head and was like a haze that clouded his ability to resist, subduing him.

“That’s better. Now. How about a little bit of romance, sweetheart?”

Klaus’s lips grounded against Damon’s, tongue following like some wriggling entity of its own. If not for being captive, Damon would’ve turned his head and spat. The taste of it was undeniably grotesque; rotting meat and saliva that was rancid as bile. The fingers pressed deeper into old wounds, the ache moving beyond skin, infiltrating internal organs. The radius pulsed, intensifying like roots buried deep beneath the earth being gathered and yanked out in a clump. The fingers struck bone from the outside, kept pushing, tension churned until it threatened to rupture. Damon finally couldn’t take any more of it. He growled and shoved at Klaus, trying to dislodge him.

The scent of blood rose, and he felt his teeth lengthen instinctively before realizing the Original had broken the skin. The feeling that came next was indescribable, numbing and agonizing at the same time. He forced his head up enough to see the damage, the tissue and blood caked edges of the wound swallowing Klaus’s hand to the wrist. Something went cold inside him, taught; a shifting mass that seemed to want to burrow to his heart and nest itself there. He dug his hands into the nearest surface, felt skin lodge itself in his nails. The tremor started in him as Klaus pulled him close, and the fist went deeper. Just tension and agony held too long, he knew. Not fear. He could take this. It was just pain. His body would heal.

He swallowed the pool of blood that had snaked like infiltrating sludge into his saliva, felt the world waver as Klaus got a hold of some mass of meat and tissue inside him, squeezed. He caught a glimpse of the wound again like some great void had opened within him and forced the internal structures outward. There was the slight bulge of something amongst the crimson length of Klaus’s arm.

“The human form of intimacy is a good laugh,” crept the low voice that seemed to come from some distant place. “They want to be all snuggled up and close to each other. They come programmed for that, like lovesick cattle. But our kind; we know what it really is. Sticking ourselves up to the elbows in the wet and the red and holding a life in our palms.” A muffled roar escaped Damon as Klaus’s arm twisted inside him. “Literally. Taking a life and feeling the surge of it as it fills up your veins. Intimacy can’t get any purer.”

His words were strangled, choppy, but Damon managed to spit them out. “I don’t think you’re up to my standards.”

“Congrats on the fall from grace.”

It was like lancing a wound, when Klaus pulled out of him. All raw, throbbing tension receding to a dull thrum as things slipped and parted inside him, Klaus’s hand emerging in such a gelatinous, red mess that it seemed amorphous. Something dripped from between his fingers, and he raised it to his mouth, curled his tongue against it before swallowing it. Damon could feel the open wound weeping, the sensation of things torn arranging themselves back together as if pulled by invisible stitching. Moving was not pain, but something all-encompassing and paralyzing. It curved its hooks into his memories , dredged up his mercenary days, a time when a human boy had once gotten past his guard. He shouldn’t have. He was slow and weak, and Damon was drunk on the blood of his fallen prey. But he had also been arrogant, on that bloody, battle-stricken night, and he hadn’t suspected a boy could use a sword with all the efficiency of a grown man. It had sliced with alacrity across his abdomen, gone deep enough to make the guts burst from their internal cradle. He’d held them in as he’d sliced the boy’s head from his shoulders, but there’d been no surge of triumph from that death. He’d been merely defending himself.

But the pain, as he lay healing, was what laid him up. So many lives he’d ingested, and yet it had hurt as if death had descended on him a second time, had taken some hours to fully heal, even when he drew on reserves to will the process faster. He had never known such a feeling until then, and had never again. Until now.

“You’re not looking well.” The lines around Klaus’s mouth creased into a frown, but his eyes were mocking.

Blood continued to trickle from Damon’s wounds, the damage so thorough that his healing capabilities could barely compensate. His gaze locked with the original’s, on him, like the sight of a gun, and he snarled, all his thought turned to a vengeful red. Nothing but animal rage, now.

Like the paw of a bear before it struck, a hand hovered him. The expected blow never happened. Damon stilled as it came down on his head, combed through his hair. The rage peeked, and despite the agony he was in, the position of losing, he had been pushed to breaking point. One hand clamped over his serious wound, he lunged. With the force of hate that he had learned to so carefully sculpt over the centuries, he longed to tear Klaus’s throat out, to feel the red hot gush of that blood slipping down his throat; pouring out around him in a wave of crimson. He had never wanted to spill blood so badly in his life. Not even when he was starving; Not when he’d fought Stefan over Katherine and Elena. That had all had a purpose, an agenda that aligned with his own passions. But this was not the same; it was hate with malice

“That’s it, boy,” Klaus’s voice was full of an emotion that made Damon’s breath still as he held the younger vampire at bay. “Revel in it. Because you may have been /her/ creation, but you exist because of me. Your fate is inevitable.” His head tilted like a curious animal, and he brought Damon in close. “I think you need no elaboration.”

Damon’s wrists became enclosed in Klaus’s grip, pinioned above his head. He could hear his own breathing, labored, accompanied by the slosh of blood against bare tissue. The Original’s expression twisted into one of scrutiny as if he were contemplating the meaning of some obscure piece of artwork. One hand trailed down, and his fingers caressed Damon’s crimson cast flesh, moved to the space between their bodies. The younger fought to struggle, to at least move. He could do that, now. He was past caring if it killed him. No more biding his time. Klaus had pushed him to the brink of some dark pit of madness, and he was staring into the abyss, feeling its overwhelming influence. But it was as if he were an insect pinned in a frame. It only made him fight harder.

Grabbing him by his hips, the original ground himself against the younger vampire, clearly enjoying the struggles. “I’m going to show you hell now, Salvatore. And you obviously need showing.”

There was a contraction, then, above Damon’s groin. Almost as if the muscles were trying to expel. And the pain, he couldn’t classify it. Worse than any sword strike, or weapon injury. The parts of the wound that had been beginning to heal were torn wide open again, the ripping making him slam his head back against the tomb and clench his teeth so hard he thought they would shatter. A sharp intake of breath pierced his mind, and he felt Klaus’s strong arms wrap around him, nails tear the flesh at his back. The Original seemed in the throes of some great passion, his presence bundled in a thick coat of power that was like a warning light. Something wrenched inside Damon, suddenly, and he jerked like prey on a spear end.  
Worse than the abyss came the beast that lived within it, spiraling up, jaws gaping, teeth like stalactites. Ready to devour him.

He wouldn’t look down. He knew what he’d see.

Klaus grabbed him by the back of his head, both hands forcing him to bow his neck, look upon the grotesque horror.

“Does it feel good, Salvatore? Having my cock inside your delicious viscera?”

Broken limbs, severed flesh-- that was minor discomfort compared to what it felt like to have Klaus slowly thrusting his way inside Damon’s wound. The edges split like the maw of a beast, fresh blood welling up over them and seeping down his skin and collecting in slick, dark pools beneath his body, dripping over the lip of the tomb to paint the church floor. His teeth ground together as he fought to keep himself focused, all his muscles taught against the feeling of being eaten alive by a giant snake with machetes for fangs. Sweat beaded his skin, so dense and thick that it appeared that someone had doused him with it. Klaus might as well have shoved hot coals inside him, so intense and oppressive was the sensation.

The skin at Klaus’s throat convulsed as Damon’s hand seized it and squeeze. But Klaus merely angled his body so that it sent the younger vampire recoiling as if socked in the gut. The Original gave a deep groan, holding Damon in the position.

“Aren’t you going to tell me I’m evil?” The voice that came from Klaus’s voice was breathless, full of amused pleasure. “That you’ll stop me somehow? Go on. Get me worked up.”  
Damon couldn't answer him. His mouth was seized by the crippling agony that each of Klaus's thrusts sparked anew, and his mind had become to much of a miasma to communicate telepathically. Even worse was that he could feel Klaus's erection moving along the inner walls of his abdomen, grinding organs and fatty tissue and working into a rhythm that was hard and relentless. A whistling of breath passing between clenched jaws started up, swelling into moans and bursting into short, urgent cries. He realized it was himself making the noise, hated the fact that he’d been reduced to such.

But then came the blood, spilling over his lips in a glistening arch down his neck and chest, silencing him. He convulsed, then, eyes going wide, nostrils quivering like some brainless beast flinching at shadows. All signs unveiled the imminent shutting down of his body; a human in its death throes. So he was to fall here, at the hands of a scumdog and his perverse pleasures. It was not a suiting end. He was better than that.

“Ain’t your time yet, sport,” came the thick lash of Klaus’s voice. “But maybe we’ve played too much today, eh? ”

Realizing he still had his hand around Klaus’s throat, Damon ‘s strength was resurrected by a sudden surge of outrage. His fingers hooked into claws, tore flesh as the old one yanked him off. Fatigue sent the muscles in his arms flexing until the tremor ran in a wave through his entire body. Klaus pulled out of him, then, with a ghastly sound that made him think of the sword that had been plunged through his heart so long ago. Although he was awash with grief, the sight of Klaus's cock smeared with a moist layer of blood and meat so thick it looked like nothing more then a huge mass of mangled flesh invoked a higher tier of disgust. He could sense the nature of Klaus’s thoughts, then, knew that the old one wanted to force him to his knees, wrench his mouth open and make him gag on his cock.

Confusing was a swirling clamp, then, when Klaus gathered him in his warms and kissed him like an impassioned lover. Fangs clamped down on his tongue, tearing, tugging. Pain sighed from the lips of his torn flesh as Klaus caressed it.

Several moments went by in which he could register nothing. And then something swept his lips. Hot, heady. Flavor or iron and lightning. And something else. Something that spoke to the primordial parts of his all too human brain, igniting the memories of fear and darkness cast by ancestry. A thumb plundered his mouth, tasting of dirt and coated the ancient blood, and if it was as if every part of his hunter’s instinct sprung loose. He closed his teeth around it, ignored the shame as he realized his bloodlust had taken over and he was suckling like a babe at its mother’s teat, trying to get at more. Klaus sat him upright, cradling him, and Damon could smell the charged blood even before he saw the wound, flowing freely from a cut near the old one’s collar bone, and he wanted so much to bury himself in that taste.

“Mother’s milk, Salvatore. Drink up so you can grow big and strong.”

Strange feelings coursed through his mind as he fed, of deep satisfaction and pride and something far more sinister that seemed stuck fast to the crevices of thought, pure in its existence. He also sensed a sliver of something else, not as potent or comprehensible, but there. Then the world seemed to go fuzzy, wavering in and out, and he embraced it, giving in to the velvet darkness of unconsciousness. But not before Klaus pulled away, and he heard the laughter behind his words.

“Rest now, boy. Tomorrow you’ll have a new baby brother to play with.”

Little brother- Stefan. He couldn’t protect Stefan. Klaus was still adamant, would destroy him.

He wasn’t going to allow it.

xxx

When Damon had awoke, he was sprawled out on the church floor, dusk coming on like death on a [pale horse?] skeletal chariot. Traces that he’d ever been wounded seemed to have gone the same way the sun was, vanishing under the horizon. In awe, he brushed his belly, the smooth flesh intact beneath his fingers. That was the first thing he noticed, the second being that he felt strong, his powers like an immense creature roosting at the back of his mind. With a near flicker of effort he was able to hone in on Klaus’s presence; Stefan’s, the humans, even Tyler. All at once, as if he had merely opened some inner eye and cast its gaze on them.

Just as soon as he was marveling at this new ability, he realized the danger the others were in, what Klaus had planned. Just thinking about the Original was enough to connect them. Klaus’s admirence was palpable as he tuned in to Damon’s presence.

Coming to join the party? The Original taunted. We’re all set to start without you.

The blast of conjoined anger and power Damon sent back sent off shockwaves backfiring through him. He wasn’t used to such an abundance of telepathic strength. Count on it, you bastard.

Laughter rang in his head. Oh I am, Salvatore. I am.

It was by no conscious instinct that he found himself circling the trees above the clearing, wind ruffling hot through his plumage as he dove down towards them. He simply had known this was the place he was meant to be, and sure enough his bird’s eyes view verified it for him. There were the humans, injured, but alive. And Klaus, holding a spear of splintered wood.  
Driving it downwards.

Smiling as it pierced his brother’s prone body.

Damon hit the ground in human form and went at the Original with all the rage at the humiliation, the suffering, the subjugation, and the sadistic whims him and his brother had endured. His rush was like a bull running through the dust-laden streets of Spain, its horns thrashing, and the sound that came from him could have never been mistaken for human. Klaus was caught by the back of the neck before he could dodge out of the way, just under the curve of his skull, Damon’s grip so strong that he was locked like that. The younger vampire pulled his captive round, thrusting his other arm into the surprised cavern of mouth, his hold preventing teeth from clamping down.

And then he pulled his arm backward.

There was the sound like water flowing down a drain, and the garbled cry of frustrated rage. Only muffled, as if it had gotten stuck on its way out.

The slick wedge of flesh hit the ground, and Damon released Klaus. He’d wanted to reach in the Original’s chest, wrench the flesh open like had been done to him, wrap his fingers around the vampire’s black, shriveled heart. His poisoned tongue was the next best thing. Silently Damon stood, arms going still at his sides, face impassive, as Klaus clawed at his mouth and throat, still making the awful grunts. Damon didn’t doubt Klaus could regenerate. He wasn’t a normal vampire, and as he expected, the Original was already calming, arrogant laughter usurping panic. Or that’s what it sounded like, at least. The abrupt, breathy noises had an edge to them that was mocking, and the sound was echoed in his mind.

/Is that all you’re going to do to me, boy?/ Klaus’s voice crawled up in its wake. He mouth was a dark, oily blot that corrupted the handsomeness of his features, and blood had gathered on his chin like a beard, beating out a slow rhythm as it dripped to his chest. /You’re better than that./

Damon showed him how much.

It was easy to break the man’s bones, he found out as he pulled the Original’s arms behind his back and snapped them in one finely honed movement. Amazing what a bit of pressure in the right spot could do. Klaus struggled, his muscular form nearly impossible to keep subdued, but his pain made him rash and clumsy. Damon anticipated his blows and avoided them as if it were a dance he knew all the steps to. As he did, he could feel the other vampire’s blood burning fierce in his veins, making him feel as if he could wrestle gods; invincible. Blows that connected hardly even registered.

With Klaus’s legs, he exhibited a little justice, shattering the bones the same way his had been. But he didn’t stop, reaching above each knee, his grip tightening there until he felt the bones grinding, breaking, and blood run thick against his hands.

Klaus lay on the ground, face gaunt, nose glistening with mucous while his lips flared with his heavy breath. His face was contorted into a paradox; a sneer of rage and challenge, but the roguish light of amusement blazed in his eyes as well.

It gave Damon means to pause. He became aware of his brother, lying motionless on the ground a few feet away. Bonnie was there, huddled over him. He started towards them.  
Like a demon on Bald mountain, translucent, leathery wings unfurling against the backdrop of a cloud graced night sky, Klaus set his teeth and managed to plant his fingers in the ground, lift himself up enough to get his ruined legs under him. Lips stretched taught over grinning teeth, and that grin didn’t falter as he brought himself slowly back to full height.

Cold fingers of dread stabbed deep into Damon as Klaus rotated a shoulder, stretched that arm, as if working out the kinks, then did the same with the other. He took a step forward, and another, a slight limp the only indication that Damon had hurt him at all. The younger vampire balled his fists at his sides as Klaus came towards him, his brow creasing as he readied for the second round. But a hand thumped him on the chest then, pushing him back hard enough that he almost stumbled.

/Not good enough,/ the voice said in Damon’s head, just as he felt Klaus’s power settling over him, binding him from moving from where he stood. It came from within him, twining around his own source of powers like binding rope. The Original had been toying- or rather, testing- him, and now set his attention back on the dejected, bleeding heap that was his brother, Bonnie still hunched over him.

xxx

Stefan was sitting in a chair by the bed when Damon stepped into the room, Elena curled up on said bed, cradled by dream and closed off from the world. He was leaning forward, watching her with his arms draped over his knees, and he looked as if he’d been in that position all night, likely had. He didn’t move as Damon came up beside him and lowered a hand to his shoulder.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” The younger Salavtore’s voice was quiet, but there was nothing but calm wariness in it.

“How is she?”

“Alive. But tired. She’s been sleeping all day, though.”

“Human?”

“As far as I can tell, yes.”

Damon made a noise of acknowledgment but didn’t offer up his opinion.

“We can go outside, if you’ve come to talk.” Stefan leaned in closer, pulling the blanket up where it has slid down Elena’s form. A faint smile crossed his lips, then. “She’ll be fine.”  
“But will you?” Damon commented once they were upon the widow’s walk. The old railing still hadn’t been replaced since that Halloween night Elena had dislodged it and gone plummeting nearly to her death. Stefan had been able to save her, that first time. But the second, and the third? Damon stood at the open gap left in the railing, feet just at the ledge. If he leaned forward just the slightest, he’d fall right off. But that was not much of a concern for him. His back was to his brother, and he heard the other vampire sigh.

“You think he’s gone, just like that?”

Damon didn’t need his brother to elaborate. He raised one shoulder in half a Gallic shrug. “That, little brother, didn’t answer the question.”

Crickets chirped somewhere in the distance, and the keen of a bird came low and lonely on the air. Morning was not far off. He could smell the scent of animals unfurling from the depths of sleep, and the moist, humid air rising. It was going to be a muggy day, probably with a summer storm or two. Damon turned, slowly, and saw that Stefan’s face was scrunched in concentration.

“I felt it, when they took him. Even though he nearly killed me….” Stefan broke off, one corner of his mouth twisting. “Did kill me, I was almost compelled to stop them. I might’ve, if I’d been in any condition to do it.” He ran pale fingers through his hair. “But once he was gone, it was like the cord keeping me bound to him snapped. I might be a while before the need fades altogether, but the worst of its been destroyed along with him. “

A simple nod came from Damon, his gaze shifting to a clump of trees below them.

“What about you?” His brother took several steps forward, his eyes dilated to rings so thin and green they looked fragile. “You were his captive too, Damon.”

“I’m fine” came the clipped reply.

They stared at each other for several seconds without saying anything, as if they were facing each other down in the old days, made more unnerving by their utter silence.

“No,” Stefan insisted, taking that last step that closed the distance between them. “You’re not. You wouldn’t be here if you were.”

“I came to check on you. I was worried that your ties being severed from Klaus so abruptly may have had an ill effect. I see my concern was unsound.”

“You were with him as long as I was, if not longer. You didn’t walk away from that without enduring his torture. I saw what he did, when he let me go. I saw it in you when he let you come to the boarding house.”

“Don’t go any further. I warn you, Stefan. Let me deal with things on my own terms.” There was desperation in Damon’s voice, subtle and contained under layers of self-control. But still Stefan said simply, “I can’t.” As Damon’s head tilted down towards him, and a crease of annoyance formed at his brow, Stefan set his jaw and added, “You’d stand by me, just the same. “  
“It’s not the same.”

“We’ve been through hell these last few months, Damon. Together.” Stefan was getting increasingly desperate to will his point across and grabbed Damon by the arm when the other vampire moved to push past him. “We’re more than allies. We’re brothers.”

Damon looked down at the hand, then up at Stefan. His expression was one of defiance, and his muscles bunched, ready to throw the younger vampire off of him. But then something seemed to shatter in him, eyes swelling with some hot, fierce emotion. He came at Stefan, forcing him back until he was braced against what remained of the railing. The rusted iron groaned in warning, and Damon’s hands bunched in his brother’s shirt to prevent the possibility.

“Would you still call me brother if you knew what I’d become,” he snarled, lips pulled back to reveal the points of fangs. “Would you still ally yourself to me?”

“And what would you become,” Stefan shot back. “Like Klaus? You may be amoral, brother, but there’s a wide gap between amorality and monster that I even acknowledge. You’ve let down your guard way too much the other night. I know, now, you’ll never be like him.”

“Oh no? Whose to say that the power doesn’t drive us mad over the centuries? The blood and the killing and the violence. I’ve slaughtered in rage and in passion and even you’ve felt it before. We are Klaus’s descendants, whether we acknowledge it or not. We may both very well end up the same as he did.”

“It’s not inevitable. And I wouldn’t let that happen to you.”

There was a sound like broken glass being ground underfoot, and Stefan realized his brother was laughing. There was no humor to it, though. It was empty and resigned. “What, Stefan would you do? What could you do?” Damon released his brother, and Stefan saw how haggard his face was, dark shadows smudged like bruises beneath eyes that burned with something unsettling; unsettling because Stefan had only twice seen that look, once just days ago, and once in the crypt when they’d fought Katherine.

“Anything.”

“You really are a fool, then. Stubborn and foolish.” Damon was back at the ledge, staring down into the tree line as if there was something of interest there. Stefan couldn’t see anything, but he didn’t doubt his brother could. “I don’t know how she came back. I don’t know how the forces of the universe work, and I surely have some of my own questions to resolve now that I’ve seen what I have. [blah]

“But I know that things are never over. Not truly. And I’ll see you when the time comes again.”

He was gone before Stefan could reply, launching himself from the ledge, the graceful swan dive towing him closer to the earth until he spread his wings and caught the current. Then he was soaring, the boarding house becoming a fainter speck in the distance until it was gone altogether.

Xxx  
The deer had been too easy of a kill. Its head was bent low to the grass, teeth nibbling the growth with bites that were almost delicate. On silent paws he’d stalked it, getting up close, waiting for the right moment to strike. And then he’d closed his jaws around the neck, the feel of bones snapping sending a murderous thrill through him.

He’d fed well, savoring every bite, licking flecks of carrion and gore from his fur and chops afterward. Then he’d hunkered down into the carcass, shoving his snout deep between the slats of bones, pink tongue skimming them for any last scraps. His teeth caught a rib between them, and he tossed his massive head from side to side, finally tearing it free. He’d lain down on the forest floor, gnawing at his prize like a content puppy, when he heard the slight thump. Scraped to a dirty cream color, the bone fell from his lips and was forgotten as he saw who had come to grant him company.

Damon didn’t speak as he strode forward, made hardly a sound. His eyes were narrowed, face cast in a scowl. Every part of him seemed focused on the werewolf, radiating menace so thick it ignited the air and sent the wolf’s hackles rising.

“You,” he huffed, backing up a step. “Stay away from me. I’ll kill you.”

The vampire ignored him, still coming with slow, deliberate steps.

“I mean it.” Teeth flashed, saliva and blood whipping into a froth. “I’m as strong as you are.”

Laughter filled the woods, mocking the claim. “By all means, Tyler, why don’t you try?”

The snarl reverberated like the motor of some powerful engine, and Tyler folded his lupine body as if winding a spring. But by the time he leapt, Damon was already moving. He caught the beast by his throat, held him out and away. The curve of his mouth was like the curve of a blade, malicious and ominous. He regarded Tyler as he held him aloft for some time, eyes so black and vacant they could have been those of a death visage. Appropriate, considering what he’d planned. He grinned, then, the rictus of the victor reveling in his triumph. Muscles clenched, bulged.

The sound was sharp, echoing, and it cut off just as sharply. Tyler’s eyes, wide and quivering, rolled upward.

Werewolves, like vampires, had efficient healing capabilities. But they were bound to circumstances, just the same. When Damon’s grip slackened, and the body sagged before crumpling to the ground, he knew the werewolf wasn’t getting up again.

It was a similar force that brought Damon to his knees as well. He sat there beside the corpse, eyes locked on it, as if it had secrets yet to be revealed. Then he just sat. Dawn had unfurled amongst the world, spreading its golden radiance across the treetops and branches, cutting patterns on the forest floor. A sliver caught Tyler’s glassy, amber eye, glistened like a jewel lying hidden in the stone. He felt his own eyes drifting shut, the comfort of solitude and serenity embracing his mind like a lover. Klaus’s blood still coursed through his veins, its powers a shadow of what it had been. But still, not far off, like a beacon in the night, he could feel his brother’s presence. Elena’s too.

He drifted off.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me over on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorteAmore) where I regularly post updates about writing etc.


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